Ferte in Noctem Animam Meam
by Bewitch my Mind
Summary: The war has ended but the fallout is far from gone. Hermione returns to Hogwarts to finish her NEWT studies while the rest move on to settle down, leaving her feeling slightly disgruntled and more than slightly alone. Will she find a new living, breathing, interest to both occupy her time and fill the vacancies in her life?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So, obviously this is a brand new story, although I am not a brand new author. Brief introduction though, I'm a university student from the U.K.. That should suffice. Anyway, give this a read, I've got a rough outline of the entire story done so updates should be somewhat regular. The story itself is quite long. Peruse the premiere chapter and let me know what you think! I live for feedback!

Disclaimer: anything that you recognise belongs to the lauded J.K. Rowling.

She hated it here. Not the place itself, no, but the void that she felt there; the chasm that had never before existed but was now all encompassing. Hermione Granger sat atop the tattered and worn window bench in the drawing room of No. 12 Grimmauld Place. It had been ages since she had sat there, since before the war at least, and she had never done so alone. As she stared out of the rain streaked windows onto the street below, it began to sink in, the fact that she would be returning to Hogwarts to finish her studies, whilst her two best friends had already landed their auror training positions. She missed them and that was what she felt so deeply now, the near suffocation of solitude. Gracious as it was for Harry to allow her to stay in the house that was now his for the night, she wished that she wasn't alone, no matter how brief her stay was. She became submerged in thought as her mind drifted towards her impending future and her eyes drifted over the street below.

Just then, a cloaked, hooded figure bled through her pane of view like ink would water, floating to the stoop which lead to the front door of the home. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat as she heard the barely audible click of the door opening, followed by the splashes of car wheels on the slick streets below. Someone was in the house.

With blistering speed, Hermione leapt from her perch and made her way to the stairwell with great haste. Once there she crouched, wand grasped tightly in her white knuckles, searching for the intruder, ready to spring to action. A voice, rich and tenor, broke the stagnant air that she was struggling to breathe.

"Ms. Granger, you can kindly come out from behind that bannister, I have no intentions of causing you any bodily harm"

She recognised that drawl all too well, although she was wary wether or not she would ever hear it again after that night in the shrieking shack. She stood slowly, wand still clasped in vice-like fingers. She struggled to speak, words seeming to continually slip from her reach. "You've given me a fright sir, I didn't expect...I mean I never thought...Harry didn't tell…"

"That's quite enough Granger. It is, as of now, rather apparent that Potter has, once again, true to his nature, forgotten to mention my impending arrival. It may be prudent to mention then that I shall be spending the evening in the guest room on the second floor next to the drawing room before departing for Hogwarts in the morning. I believe that that should suffice for an explanation and I shall take my leave to my chambers now." Hermione knit her brow as damp, billowing robes made their way towards her and then brushed by like a whisper from the wind. She turned on her heels and followed behind him.

"Sir, shall I be accompanying you to Kings cross then?" She stammered as best she could.

Her question was merely answered with the slamming of a hearty wooden door inches from her nose. Defeated, she took leave to her own room just down the hall where she shut the door, made her way to the bed on the opposite wall, picked up a stray piece of literature, sunk into her duvet, and attempted to sort out her thoughts. She knew he was alive, she just didn't expect to ever encounter him again. She had come to terms with that fact. It did appear, though, that he had changed very little, and that was very much alright, she had always somewhat enjoyed his sour attitude. Perhaps it made his brooding academic work a bit more… mysterious. She surmised that she would be seeing quite a lot of him in her NEWT preparation. 'Best prepare for the worst' she thought as she looked at the clock, noted the late hour, and retired to sleep.

Severus glanced at the dusty grandfather clock in the even dustier corner of the room from over the rim of his tea cup that he had just retrieved from the kitchen. It was but the wee hours of the morning and he harboured no hope for sleep, some things never change. His thoughts drifted to Ms. Granger. While he kept a level head upon their encounter, he failed to mention that Mr. Potter had also neglected to tell him of her presence upon his invitation to utilise the house prior to his departure to school. He knew she was returning for NEWT studies but had not thought much on the fact that he would, inevitably, be spending extensive amounts of time with the _insufferable know it all. _No matter, he would manage. Crossing to the fireplace he placed an arm on the mantle and looked in the mirror that he found at eye level. He looked tired, more tired than ever. The wrinkles on his pallid skin had deepened and multiplied, grey strands flecked at his otherwise inky temples. Dark circles like bruises marred the spaces under his eyes and his lips, once a somewhat vivacious hue, had become shadowed and pale. He was not at all well and he knew it. He breathed deep the steam coming off his tea, took a long sip, and slinked to the bed where he sat and, in short order was asleep. Peculiar.

Hermione rapped on the black wood that was the guest room door. "Sir, Professor Snape, Sir! It's nearly ten-thirty! Sir, we're going to miss the train!" After minutes of trying she mustered all of her courage and opened the door with naught an invitation and was greeted by the sight of her potions professor, sound asleep, in his clothing he wore the day before, dragon hide boots and all. His chest barely moved. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought him dead. She crossed the room quickly and, before she could had a chance to reconsider, laid her hand to his cold face. His eyes immediately snapped open revealing the darkest, most tortured, fathomless eyes she had ever seen.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So here is the next chapter. so sorry for the somewhat extensive delay but academia can really keep one busy

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The Hogwarts Express trudged forward on the same twisting and winding path that it had so many years before. Outside the windows the fog was thick as pea soup and could barely be seen through. In her solitary compartment Hermione lolled between sleep and wakefulness as the train tracks clicked below her mary jane clad feet. Each time she had hope of drifting off, he psyche became belaboured with an image of his eyes, struggling and wrought with an agony that she, even during the war, had never before beheld. She recalled the moment after his lids had relaxed, the pang of indescribable feeling that was felt immediately in her chest when his face contorted into something resembling a plea for help. She remembered the frenzy that had followed, the strong hand gripping her thin wrist while her hand rested on his face, the knit in his dark brow as he pushed her away, the bustle and billow of the phantom-like black robes around her, and then the silence that rung in her ears after the heavy front door had slammed shut. She hated herself in that moment for feeling something that she knew she should not. What she felt, while difficult to lay a finger on, was a hurt that spurred from a longing to wrap her arms around someone in inexplicable pain; to tell him that everything would be alright, the war was over. _Preposterous, absolutely absurd,_ she thought, and immediately pushed that feeling aside, vowing never to think of it again. But now, in her compartment, all alone and entirely perplexed, the suppressed feeling surfaced once again.

The train had arrived in the Hogsmead and emptied quickly, students scattering like excited ants towards the carriages and some towards the boats for their first glimpse of the unwavering castle. Hermione made her way to the thestrals that she, and far to many of her classmates, could now see. After making the short journey to the castle, the great hall was filled, Professor McGonagall gave her year-opening speech, and the tables became filled with food. This year, for one Gryffindor, the feast, the great hall, the castle, none of it was really the same. She felt alone, but one worse, she _wa_s alone; no insatiably hungry ginger or sloppy haired chosen one by her side.

Professor Snape sat at the high table, reguarding the great hall in sweeping glances, his gaze always seeming to rest on one particular seat at his house's most loathed table. It was strange really, he surmised. Her loneliness, her solitude, seemed to proliferate a sickly calm, as if to say 'the war is over, remember', as the boy who lived could no longer be seen at her side because he had assumed a normal life, like any other adult wizard would. It was as if the moment that Harry had performed his duty, had vanquished the Dark Lord, his job was over, the fuss was over, and every wizard could go back to living the way they once did. _Nothing to see here. _ His thoughts were then jarred to the events of earlier that morning, as much as he would have liked to avoid the encounter. The scene flashed through his crowded mind like a stop-motion film, disjointed and panicky. _The first sight of his day, the exceedingly frightened gaze of a young girl who had already seen so much that she never should have. His hand flying up to grasp the slight wrist that was attached to the delicate, warm hand resting on his face. The instant, heavy, choking air of trepidation that seeped into her golden chocolate eyes. All followed by another flight of the Prince. _Let it go. He shook himself from his train of thought.

The hall began to empty, all students and staff headed to their respective ramparts of the castle. Hermione rose in a fog, walked to her new living arrangement that she didn't even really take a look at, bathed, changed her clothes, and retired to bed. It wasn't until her head hit her pillow that she realised that she had crushed a bit of parchment in her rats nest that she reguarded as was hair. Warily, she fished around for the paper and eventually held a somewhat maimed envelope in her outstretched hand. Breaking the seal on the back, she was greeted with the scrawling, spiked handwriting that she recognised so well as that of one Minerva Mcgonagall.

_Dear Hermione, _

_I hope that this note finds you well and settled in your new accommodations. _

_Might you find it in your day tomorrow to stop in my office for a bit, there is a fairly pressing matter that I wish to discuss with you, at length. _

_Best, _

_M. McGonagall_

Without more of a thought, Hermione placed the letter on her bedside table, put out the light, and struggled for sleep, though each and every time that her eyes would lull shut she was met with the piercing, fathomless gaze that had plagued her in the early morning. She pray, as she lay in her bed in the wee hours of the morning, that she might forget those eyes and find the respite of any amount of sleep.

Morning broke the horizon all too early for one who had absolutely no sleep. Hermione somehow managed to pull herself together and make her way to the headmistress's office, as she had been instructed. Upon ascending the hidden, spiraling staircasse, Professor McGonagall could be seen pacing the floor as she had seen Albus Dumbledore do so many times before, wearing the same tracks in the age-old marble that he, and their predecessors, once did. Upon noticing her guest, The headmistress ceased her movement, broke into a hearty smile, and ushered the young woman in her presence to sit down in the overstuffed armchair opposite her desk. In a matter of seconds, a tea tray had appeared on top of the desk's dark and worn wooden top and Hermione had been handed a small china cup.

"Shall we dive right into discussion dear? If memory serves me, you never were one for small talk."

"Yes professor, you would be correct there" Hermione responded politely, curiosity catching up to her as she ruminated on the note, in her increasing wakefulness.

"Well then, I think it's important that we discuss what you'll be doing whilst at Hogwarts this year."

"Well professor, I plan on sitting classes so that I may take NEWTS at the end of the year. I thought that much was obvious when I was offered a spot back." Hermione was becoming a bit concerned, biting the inside of her lip.

"No, no my dear, that much is very much affirmed. I was speaking more on the lines of career preparation. Have you given any thought to what you might like to do upon graduation"

"In earnest, I would like very much to assume the position of a healer."

"Ah yes, some never waver on the path to excellence. Why I've called you here today, Ms. Granger, is to discuss taking on an apprenticeship to hone your skills before entering your chosen profession. Now, it would be a considerable amount of work, but nothing that you wouldn't be able to handle, I'm sure."

"Nothing would please me more, Professor!" Hermione had perked up instantly at the suggestion. She knew that the offer of an internship at Hogwarts was rare, extremely rare. "With whom would I carry out this internship?"

"That's the thing, many teachers have agreed to take you on but I fear that our most...reluctant choice is also the best and the most practical." She braced herself for the name that she knew was coming, sneaking up on her like a basilisk through the schools plumbing.

"Professor Snape has agreed to be your mentor in this process. I know that he can be...unsavoury at times and is not your favourite of professors but he really is a brilliant man and I believe that you will really benefit from his tutelage." Minerva recited, as if she had planed the retort.

"I should think that that would be the best choice as well, Professor. How shall I notify Professor Snape of my decision?"

"I can manage that. He will be in touch shortly with information concerning your first meeting. Congratulations my dear and in some respects, welcome to the staff." Minerva rose to give Hermione a short hug before biding her farewell and sending her on her way. Once Hermione had entered the corridor below the headmistress's office her psuedo smile fell and a knit fixed itself in her youthful brow. her teeth found the inside of her lower lip again. _What had he gotten herself into?_

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_Well then, thank you for reading. I hope you like the direction that things are headed. _

_Please review, all comments are much appreciated_


	3. Chapter 3

Severus sat in the overstuffed armchair near the hearth of a roaring fire in his chambers. The threadbare fabric supported his lolling hand that clasped a nearly empty tumbler of fire whiskey. He had had a fairly long day and deserved to let go a little, he surmise. It was strange for him to be back. So much had changed in the last year, a war had been fought, allegiances had been tested, the castle was destroyed and reassembled, friendships had begun to decay, and death had so nearly taken him. It was unsettling, really, that Hogwarts could continue to thrive, the great hall could host another year opening feast, and students could natter on about their petty frivolities as if nothing had even stirred.

He thought back to the feast, swirling the caramel coloured liquid round and round in his glass. His psyche was physically pulled, as if willed by a skilled legilimens, back to the young girl sitting at the Gryffindor table. He hadn't gotten a good look at her the previous night at Grimmauld Place, now that he thought of it, he had _never _really gotten a good look at her. She was different than before, he knew that much. He drifted. There was a gentle hollowness to her cheeks, a shadow under her eyes, and a paleness to her skin. She looked tired, weathered, and worn but there was more. Her hair hung delicately around her face, the light of the candles illuminating secret golden hues, her lashes lay dark and long against her porcelain cheekbones, and her lips reflected copper as they forced an insincere smile.

Green flames pulled him violently from his rumination. Focusing his gaze on the fireplace, the visage of one Minerva McGonagal appeared before him. Noticing his presence, the Scot began to speak.

"Ah Severus, so glad I've caught you. I have a bit of news that I believe might be of interest to you"

"Go on" he sneered.

"I've Spoken to Miss Granger and she has agreed to accept the offer of an internship with you for the duration of this school year."The witch chided giddily.

"She has chosen wisely."

"Indeed she has, I only require that you now get in contact with her as to when you shall be meeting"

"I shall." he responded shortly, signaling that the conversation was very much over.

With that the green flames flared and he had his solitude once more. Well this should prove interesting he thought as he stood and walked to the door leading to his bedroom, in for another night of absolute hell, he knew that much for certain.

Hermione was startled when a white envelope with her name scrawled across its front appeared upon her devian. Curiosity piqued, she broke the elegant conifer coloured seal on the back and removed a note on beautiful, watermarked paper from the inside of the envelope. Her eyes flew over the words.

Ms. Granger,

I have been informed that you shall be partaking in an apprenticeship under my tutelage for the durration of the current year. I ask that you remain after potions tomorrow to discuss the conditions under which your studies shall be conducted.

Professor S. Snape

Her teeth found her bottom lip as she placed the message back from whence it came before retreating to bed, mind positively reeling.

Morning broke over the castle and students scurried to their respective classes, shuffling down staircases and squeezing through corridors. Hermione headed to potions and sat listening intently as professor Snape drawled on about the properties of flobberworm mucus. Her mind began to drift as she stole glances at the clock, counting the minutes until the class would clear of all but her and her professor. After much waiting, the clock struck eleven and the potions room quickly emptied. Before her, at the front of the room stood her foreboding professor. He placed a hand on the solid wood of his desk before speaking.

"Ms. Granger, I see that you have not, as of yet, decided to shrink away from the opportunity that I have extended to you. For this reason I find it prudent that we now discuss the terms or our… arrangement. I do, however, believe that it would be beneficial to speak of these matters in a location that is not this classroom."

She nodded in response. "Very well, follow me then."

Hermione stood and quickly fell in step behind the tall dark man. They moved behind the chalkboard, scuttled behind a large cabinet full of potions and peculiar ingredients to stand in front of a substantial door. Professor Snape, nearly inaudibly, murmured a password. The door gave way and before her unfurled a room, gracious, cosy, and warm. It wasn't at all what she had expected or formulated in her mind in the few seconds that she had realised that they may actually be headed to his personal chambers. There was a fire going in the middle of the front wall and a lovely mismatched set of furniture. Snape moved to sit in one of the overstuffed armchairs near the hearth. Taking the message, hermione did the same, once she was seated, the man opposite her began to speak.

"The terms on which I agree to offer you my tutelage are straightforward and quite plain. Do as I say and as I permit and no more. Do not touch anything that I have not told you to touch, do not go places that I have not told you to go, and that like. Do not test my patience. Do not be tardy. And above all else, do not breathe a word of any of this to anyone. Understood?"

Hermione was reeling to keep up. She swallowed the questions bubbling up in her throat.

"Yes sir." she answered respectfully.

"Lovely. We shall start this evening then and will meet four nights per week. I should hope that this shan't intrude on your _brimming _social life. We will be working in my personal laboratory which is located within my personal chambers, which, as you may have surmised, is where we are at the present moment. You may also have noticed that my chambers are warded, and heavily so I might add. For this reason I will meet you before every session in my classroom at eight o'clock sharp. Our sessions will likely last past midnight each night. I do hope that you know what you have gotten yourself into Ms. Granger. I shall see you in my classroom tonight at eight then." he stood to walk towards another door. Hermione stood as well "Yes sir, thank you sir, I'm so very…" her response was cut off the slamming of the door that he had made his escape through. She let herself out.

A/N: so another update, quite a bit quicker than the last I might add!

i hope you've like the story thus far and please please please review so that I might know my strengths, shortcommings, and/ or what you would like to see happen in the future.

also, a reviewer asked (in a comment on the last chapter) what the title means.

"ferte in noctem animam meam" is latin for "carry my soul into the night"

once again, thank you for reading and please review


	4. Chapter 4

They had been meeting for seven weeks. Each session had been relatively the same. Hermione would leave dinner early and dash down to the dungeons where she would catch her breath and wait to be let into her professor's chambers. They would begin work immediately, discussing the theory behind a particular potion, breaking down the property of each and every constituent, and finally, producing the increasingly complex concoction. At the completion of work each night, Professor Snape would dash out of the room in a fury of swirling black robes punctuating his fluid flight with the slamming of a heavy wooden door. Each night, Hermione would show herself out.

It was a Saturday evening. They had been hard at work on a variation of the already exceedingly tricky wolvesbane potion. The hours of the night had long ago slipped away and morning was creeping up on them with nought a hint of subtlety. Hermione was enthralled, nigh, obsessed with her work, counting stirs, noting colour changes, watching for vapour consistencies. She finished a stir set and took a moment to rub her eyes and glance over at her professor. Sudden alarm struck her as she noticed that Professor Snape's eyes had closed and his chest barely rose or fell at all. Turning off the heat under her no. 2 pewter cauldron, she sped round the table and pressed her small fingers to the chink of skin peeking out from above his cravat. There was hardly a pulse. She had to think quickly. She drew a steadying breath and stood, levitating her professor so that he lay on the floor behind the stool on which he had sat mere moments before. She dashed to his stores and searched frantically for the small stone that she would see in a petite, glass jar. She climbed the rickety ladder with the wheels on the bottom, praying that she would find what she was searching for on a shelf of high priority. She was right. Clutching at the container, hurried down the ladder and back to her professor's side, dripping to her knees before ungracefully shoving the beazoar into his mouth. Seconds later a ragged and pathetic cough emanated from the man's throat. His eyes shot open and what she saw exactly mirrored what she had seen that night at Grimmauld place. He tried so desperately to gain composure but failed quite miserably.

Hermione was not going to relent, this time, she wanted an explanation. He could see it in the furrow of her brow. Snape sat up clumsily, scrambling to place his hands under him to support the weight of his body. Before he knew it she was standing in front of him, her palms were proffered to him for assistance standing. He took her offer and was momentarily caught off guard by the feeling of her fingers laced amongst his. When he stood, she wrapped his arm around her bony shoulders. Sir, I hate to be garish but I think that it would be best if you lied down. I would also appreciate it if you would let me make sure that you get settled" when she spoke, she sounded as if she was out of breath, or that she may have been coming down from a ferocious adrenaline high.

"I suppose that would be alright." he conceded as they walked deliberately over to the sofa. She sat him down and scribbled down '_tea' _on the bewitched parchment that sat on the coffee table in front of them. "I'm getting the idea that you may be in search of an explanation for what you've witnessed, not once, but twice now."

"Yes sir, I would rather like to know, I've never seen a wizard react like this to a potion or a spell or…" she trailed off.

"I wouldn't expect that you could have encountered such a case. I should like to recall your mind to the evening of the great battle when you, mr. Potter, and Weasley… saw me in the shrieking shack. As you may remember, I was struck down by nagini and presumed dead. However, I had not yet expired quite yet. When poppy found me I was exceedingly close to gone but, in a moment of medical ingenuity on her part, she administered an exceptionally potent draught of the living dead. Since we have been discussing potions theory, you will understand that the concentrated dosage of powdered root of asphodel found therein can serve as a powerful anti-venom. Much to my...chagrin, the triage remedy worked but I have, needless to say, left with considerable lingering effects."

"And what are those effects, Professor?" she was curious, on the edge of her seat, the insufferable know-it-all.

"It's not quite so easy to explain. The main issue is a problem that causes severe insomnia followed by bouts of narcolepsy. After I fall asleep, I fall victim to the potion which still courses through my veins." she stared incredulously at him. "and the nightmares are horrible."

She didn't speak for a long while. "Professor, there must be something that can be done about this."

"I'm afraid that all avenues that I've tried have lead to dead ends."

The tea arrived and they sat on the settee, sipping in silence. "I will figure this out sir." He chuckled dryly in reply. She pouted, not having such a favourable attitude towards doubt. They sat in contented silence as Hermione mused, chewing on her sanguine lip. As she formulated, she realised how happy she was to be spending time with another human being. Having Harry and Ron gone left her alone nearly always. It was nice, she thought, and she didn't much want it to end.

They both fell asleep on the sofa, snoozing in awkwardly angled positions. Well after noon Hermione stirred and realised that her limbs shad become unabashedly entwined with the limbs of the potions master. Attempting to not alarm him she sat slowly and gingerly placed her palm on his cheek. His skin was warm and pale under her touch. She took a moment to study his face: the creases that formed under his eyes, the obvious hook of his nose, the thickness of his lashes where they lay upon his cheek, the strength in his brow. He was beautiful, she allowed herself to admit, in the most unconventional was imaginable. When she had finished looking at him she softly dragged her thumb across the plane of his face that lay beneath her finger. His eyes opened and she placed a steadying hand on his chest. He looked a fair bit less startled than he had when he had woken before. She made a mental note. "it's nearly half past two sir."

His eyes grazed across her face, landing in her rumpled hair. He let a small smile play at the corner of his mouth. He shook himself to absolute consciousness. "I think it would be best if you headed back to your chambers Ms. Granger. I shall see you back here on Monday evening." he turned on his heel and walked briskly through one of the doors that she had not yet been through.

A/N: please review! I'd love to know where you would like to see the story go from here.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello all, I am finally back and, for the time being, free of university work. I am so sorry that I have taken so long to update but i don't need to rant about how busy I've been. and so, without further ado, I hope you enjoy chapter 5

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Hermione was conflicted; sympathetic towards his condition but determined to be the one to find its remedy. She stood pacing in her room, chewing on the inside of her lip, winding her fingers in her unruly, mousy brown hair. As much as she hoped to find the cure, she was finding herself hoping, more and more, that maybe the search for a solution would bring the two lonely beings a bit closer together. Merlin knows, they were both so forsaken. She shamed herself a bit for desiring the company of someone that she had treated so poorly in the past but the war had changed a lot of things, that much was for certain. She chastised herself again for thinking such things of a professor, decorum, Hermione, decorum, she reminded herself.

Monday evening crept around slowly and without fair warning. After dinner, she found herself scuttling down the spiraling staircases that led down to the dungeons. She waited for him in the musty, vacuous classroom, kicking a bit of paper along the cracks in the worn cobblestones beneath her feet. It was nearly ten past eight and he was nowhere to be seen. Highly abnormal, she noted. The minutes ticked by. She watched then go on the small clock that sat at the desk at the front of the room. She was exhausted from the night before in which a charms paper had kept her awake into the wee hours and struggled to stay alert.

At twenty to nine the door behind the blackboard clicked open and Hermione had to rouse herself from her catatonic state to address her professor, who now stood before her. The man raised an inky brow, inquisitive to her current state of curious sleepiness.

"I'm sorry sir, I've just been…" she struggled to defend herself.

"No matter, Granger. In." he turned on the spot and gestured toward the open door. She scurried in and waited for the door's resounding thud behind her. They moved to the lab and he drawled on about the properties of this root and that oil. He noted the damaging effects of chopping ingredients improperly and demonstrated the delicate technique to handling the extremely volatile monkshood leaves. She was listening, but as the hours ticked by, her attention waned. She raked her eyes over his form as he ground up dried hemlock roots in the pestle before him. She noticed his cravat was loose and the top few buttons of his meticulously starched frock coat were undone. Curiosity got the better of her. "Sir, why were you late?"

"Bold, Miss Granger."

"Well it's just that I… I was wondering if you had another one of your…"

"I don't think that it's your place to ask such a question now, do you?"

"Well I was just worried and…"

"The correct answer there would have been _no." _he fell silent and only spoke further to explain trivial details of their potion making. She knew then and there that he had had another… what would she call them… fits? It seemed the most appropriate term for them. She couldn't listen anymore, her mind had begun to reel about how to remedy the situation, possible potions, seemly spells, attainable arithmancy. If there was anybody bright enough to chip away at this conundrum, it was her, and her undying stubbornness would only drive the matter further.

"Miss Granger, what would be the outcome if I added the porcupine quills whilst the cauldron was still over the flame?"

Hermione roused herself from her musings. "Sorry sir, could you repeat the question?"

"Just as I suspected." he muttered under his breath. "Out with you before you cause any damage." he was shooing her out the door.

"But sir…" she protested but to no avail.

"Granger, it is sufficiently clear that you have lost interest in the lesson as you are far to busy scheming in that infernal head of yours. That will not do in a potions laboratory, you'd sooner kill us both." he pushed gently on her shoulder to get her over the threshold of his private chambers and back into the empty potions classroom. "And as a matter of interest, if I had added the porcupine quills before removing the cauldron from the heat, an extremely noxious, odorless, and colourless gas would have formed. Within a mere minute or two, we would have been dead. Mind that you pay attention in the future or we shall not continue our work. Good evening Miss Granger." he closed the door in her face with a resounding thud.

Hermione stood stark still, likely in shock from the bizarre happenings. She closed her mouth, which hung open, knit her brow, and pushed her hair back from her face before turning on the spot and leaving the room. Her mind was reeling and she needed to get a handle on her thoughts. A whisper of an idea flitted through her mind and she began climb the staircase that would take her the second floor corridor. The space was empty when she got there of course, it was nearly eleven and students had returned to their dormitories ages ago. Still she edged onward cautiously, hoping to avoid Mrs. Norris. Some habits never died. When she reached the end of the corridor she looked up at the great statue and realised that she didn't know the password anymore. "I'm afraid I don't know the password." she innocently told the great griffin. It bowed its stony head and turned aside just the same. _Curious_ she thought, but no matter. When the staircase stopped turning she looked into the office before her and noted Professor McGonagall sitting in the armchair behind her dest, tucking into tea and a biscuit.

"Erm, hello Professor. I didn't mean to disturb you, it's just that…"

"Oh nonsense Miss Granger, please, come, have a seat! Tea dear?"

"Oh, erm, yes, thank you." McGonagall set a china cup before her.

"White with two if I recall correctly?" the old woman spoke, raising a questioning brow.

"Yes please."

"Alright then dear, what brings you up this way, then?" the professor was never one to beat around the bush and she read a great confusion on the girl's brow.

"Well, you see Professor, I was...Well I've stumbled into a bit of a predicament concerning a certain someone and I was...I was wondering if I might have a word with Professor Dumbledore."

"Might this certain someone be one Severus Snape, dear?" Hermione nodded her reply and McGonagall's thin lips cracked a small smile. "Well in that case, I would absolutely agree that Albus would be the best person to talk to. Wait just one moment." she stood from behind her desk and walked over to the wall with the window. Just to the left of the sill sat a great empty frame with a rich, blue satin background. She tutted her tongue and leaned casually against the stones wall. "Oh you old codger, quit playing innocent, I know you've been listening this whole time."

"Ah yes, never could pull the wool over your eyes, could I Minerva?" the man retorted playfully, his face appearing from where it was hidden behind the great gilded frame.

"I'll leave you two to I then." she noted at Hermione and exited through a large, wooden door at the back of her office. Hermione stood and moved to take a seat in the overstuffed armchair by the old Headmaster's portrait.

"Hello Professor."  
"Miss Granger! A pleasure to see you my dear, look at how you've grown, far from the child that I once knew you as. How old are you now?"  
"Nearly twenty sir, my studies were a bit interrupted by...you know…" she trailed off.

"And are Harry and Ron…"

"No, no, they've both off and joined the real world. They finish auror training in the spring, the both of them."

"Good, I was about to become quite angry at their lack of visits. But that is excellent news now, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Now, what is it that you wanted to speak with me about?"

"Well sir, I'm not sure if you're aware or my erm… position with Professor Snape?"

"Yes, yes, my dear, Minerva has told me all about it. Marvelous opportunity!"

"I thought so too until...it's a bit of a complicated story, I'm afraid."

"Miss Granger, I have nothing but time. Feel free to occupy as much of it as you wish."

"Thank you sir. So I suppose I should begin at the beginning then. Just before the start of term, Harry allowed me to stay in nº 12 for a spell just to get things sorted. The night before I left for school professor Snape showed up and said that Harry had permitted him to stay in the house that night as well. The next morning I awoke and got everything ready for the train. It was nearly eleven and I hadn't heard anything from Professor Snape's room so I knocked for ages but there was no answer, so I entered. That was when I found him asleep in all of his clothes, barely breathing. I panicked and tried to wake him and eventually, he stirred. But…"she hesitated, suddenly feeling like what she was about to divulge was incredibly personal information. "when he opened his eyes, sir, they were so… dark and...and well tortured. And then he fled and I didn't see him again until the start of our lessons."

"Which are going well?" the old man interjected.

"They were going extremely well. Almost too smoothly. Until the other night when we were working on the wolvesbane potion. We had worked through the night and into the early morning hours when I noticed that Professor Snape had fallen asleep and it didn't look as if he was breathing properly. Naturally, I hurried to try to wake him but he didn't stir under my touch. I thought that a bezoar might do the trick. It worked just fine and eventually, I was greeted with the same gaze that I saw that night at Grimauld Place.

" I helped him to the sofa and he told me of how he had been suffering from these..._fits_ since he was attacked by Nagini in the shrieking shack and Madame Pomfrey had given him the draught of the living dead as an antivenin to save him. Regrettably, the treatment left him with extreme insomnia, narcoleptic episodes, and horrifying nightmares.

"Needless to say, I expressed an interest in saving him and he seemed patronising to my presumptuous attitude, but remained quite civil otherwise." she paused, not knowing if she should tell of how they spent the rest of the night, and most of the next day asleep on his sofa, side by side. "He then allowed me to stay for tea so that I may monitor him." Professional and succinct, she mentally applauded her tactfulness.

"How long did you stay, Miss Granger?" a small, devious smile lit up in the corners of Dumbledore's eyes, he knew she was being evasive.

"Well I don't know precisely…"

"A few hours? The rest of the evening? A good portion of the next day?" he could see a ferocious red creep up from the girls neck to flood her cheeks and light up her ears. "I see...very interesting, very interesting indeed."

"Yes sir, I suppose so" Hermione struggled to complete coherent sentences. "but he never seemed to have any issue with the other night until this evening when he arrived nearly an hour late to our lesson and when I asked him why he was late he became quite...defensive and ornery. My mind then began to wander a bit, I admit, and he asked me a question that caught me entirely off guard. He then proceeded to escort me from his chambers and effectively gave me a slap on the wrist for being nosy and aloof."

"Hmm…" the old man itched at his long, crooked nose, clearly deep in thought "This is, as I am sure you are aware Miss Granger, a highly peculiar situation. Even more peculiar given the fact that Severus is involved. I would first commend you for coming to me for counsel, I do , for reasons honourable and otherwise, know Severus better than anyone else, I should think. He is a highly complex man, Miss Granger, and I am extremely surprised that he even spoke with you after what happened the other night. Actually, I am shocked by the fact that he took you on as a private student." Hermione let out a small chortle through her nose. "He trusts you, dear, more than I have seen him trust anyone in a great while. I had never known him to allow anyone into his private chambers for as long as I was headmaster. I think the best course of action would be one that calls for a separation of your two tasks: your apprenticeship and your research, which I have no doubt you do not intend to stop. Am I correct in that assumption?"

"Yes sir, you know I've never quit a project, and I'm afraid this particular puzzle is already in full swing."

"In that case, you must be tactful. Continue your work to the cure in your own time, going off of what Severus has already given you, and carry on with your apprenticeship with a clear head."

"Yes sir." Hermione could agree to those terms.

"And Hermione…" he added as she stood from her chair to take her leave "Do be careful with him. He may not let on but he is a broken man, a fault that I am afraid I have contributed to greatly. He has let you in, so to speak. Mind yourself."

"Yes sir, and thank you." Hermione chided and ran down the spiral staircase, brows knit in unyielding confusion.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading, hopefully you enjoyed it! Reviews are always appreciated and I more than welcome any suggestions that you might have for future chapter


	6. Chapter 6

Hello dear readers, I hope you realise what's happening here... the second upload in as many weeks? Believe you me, I am just as shocked (possibly more) than you are. anyway, enough of my babbling, I hope you enjoy this next installment, things seem to be moving along quite a bit here, and I think I'm in love with this chapter.

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Severus paced the the threadbare carpet before the hearth in his now empty living room, the ringing of the door that he had just slammed in Miss Granger's face still resonated amongst the stone walls. _You pushed her away you pathetic sod, _he thought to himself. It hadn't been intentional, Severus noted, but apparently some habits died hard and being a spy through two wars and having the only woman that you ever loved killed by one of your masters apparently didn't bode well for one's social proclivities. He stared blankly into the dying embers before him and searched for something, something that told him that his actions toward Miss Granger were just. Regrettably, the coals held no solace. He backed away from the fireplace and conceded defeat to the whim that so often pulled near the back of his throat. He begrudgingly uncorked a rapidly emptying bottle and leaked a good measure of the carmel liquid into a waiting glass that already contained a ring of the substance, sticky from age, at its bottom. Down in one, the firewhiskey left a burning path in its wake. He grimaced and let a steadying breath pass over pursed lips. Surely he could drink himself into believing his own foolish delusions. _She is getting too close _Severus told himself, _she is prying, it's a clear violation or your privacy. She doesn't care about you, it's just another puzzle to her. _Sitting on the sofa, and taking the bottle with him, he continued to imbibe, hoping to chase his unsure feelings, that hinged on guilt, away but as more of the drink began to settle in the pit of his empty stomach, a single word itched at his left temple. _Trust._

Hermione had been sitting up in her bed for hours, heavy, dusty tomes spread from lap to toes. Her eyes stung from passing so quickly over the pages for so long. She had already raked through _Magical Draughts and Potions, Curious Maladies of Men and Marsupials, Magical Waterplants of the Highland Lochs, A Healer's Guide to Beguiling Afflictions, a book that no longer had a binding, _and was well into_ One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _when a curious idea popped into her head. It seemed that over the years, each and every avenue of her research led down one particular corridor. A corridor within the library to be more precise. A corridor that required the written permission of a professor to pass through. There was no way around this beast, Hermione surmised, that would allow her to circumvent the library's restricted section. Her research was to be exceedingly advanced, highly in depth, and probably focused greatly on dark magic, all qualities that would disallow a book's placement in the greater stacks of the library. She sprung from bed and tied her dressing gown tightly around her waist, marching determinedly to the headmaster's office for the second time that night. It wasn't until she had passed through the portrait hole that she realised how ridiculously she was behaving. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning and, while she would love to get a crack on furthering her reading, she couldn't be sure that Professor McGonagall would be awake. She highly doubted that she shared Dumbledore's sleep habits. No, she reassured herself, she could wait until morning, but there was no doubt that she would be waiting outside Minerva's office to intercept her directly after breakfast. For now, she would retreat to bed. So, she crawled past the portrait of the fat lady, scurried up the spiral staircase to the girls dormitory, and opened the door to her private chambers. Once under her heavy covers she stared up at the canopy above her. She fluffed her pillows, turned over thrice, stuck a leg, and then two out from beneath her blankets but for some reason, she knew sleep would not come to her easily on this night.

An empty bottle hung precariously in his hand that lolled off of the side of the sofa. He had been mulling _her_ over for a while now and knew that there was really no going back, so to speak. He knew that she wouldn't back down from finding the cure to his _bloody _affliction and that there was really no use stopping her. There was, however, the giant roadblock in his mind that would not allow himself to help her anymore than he already had, for if he helped that would mean that he would have to talk to her, which would mean that she might start to see him as a human being rather than a superior, and there would be none of that. Severus stopped for a moment and faltered in his logic. If he was to help her further, and they had to talk, that would mean that they would, in turn, spend more time together. He liked being around her, she smelled pleasant and it gave him plenty of opportunity to steal glances at her… _No, _he crapulently reprimanded himself, _she is still, in a manner of speaking under your care._ No more of those thoughts, he needed a clear head if he was to tackle the beast that was Hermione Granger's meddling mind. Sod it, he was too drunk for that, his head was far from clear, and she did have rather nice breasts.

He could feel his eyelids increasing in heaviness as they slid over glassy, stinging eyes. A momentary thought of panic coursed through his veins as he knew that he was falling asleep but there was little that he could do to stop the inevitable. His eyes shut and blackness overcame him. In time, a vision of his living room bled into his pane of view. He looked down at the floor and noticed that his feet were bare and the stone beneath them was uncharacteristically warm. He moved his shoulders, shrugging the tension from them, and he saw that the buttons of his frock coat were undone. He could hear a fire crackling and popping loudly upon the grate and could smell its musty smoke infused amongst the air. Who had made the fire? Surely not he, there was nought a bit of bark upon his unsoiled palms and he didn't seem to have his wand on hand. Then he heard it, a whisper of a voice from a good ways off behind him. He thought he interpreted his name. It couldn't be, for the voice was not that of the Dark Lord nor Albus Dumbledore, who tended to hold the sole speaking parts in his dreams as of late. His dream self was unceasingly logical. But again the voice graced his ears. He was sure this time that it was his name he heard and so he tried to turn around, but couldn't. "Would you like the chocolate biscuits with your tea?" the voice came again, it was warm and familiar.

"Yes please." came his automatic response, although he knew not to whom he was speaking and he hated chocolate biscuits. He could hear the sharp clatter of his bone china and the clanking of a silver spoon onto a metal tray. Then, small, lithe foot steps padded slowly up from behind him and moved to circle the sofa, placing the tea set on the ottoman. Hermione Granger turned her face to him, the planes of her cheeks ruddy from the warmth of the fire, odd strands of her unruly mane were alight with the glow from the flames. Her face played into a delicate smile, a smile just for him. This wasn't a nightmare at all, if this was what his dreams were to hold in the future, he thought, he wouldn't mind this...condition after all. He might even find some delight in this respite of sleep.

"So, Severus," her voice was like honey, sweet and slow, and the s's of his given name slipped from her tongue like silk. She sat across from him and leaned in close, placing her palm boldly on his knee, wrapping her fingers around the sides of his thigh. She stared directly into his eyes, her chestnut meeting his pitch. Severus had to swallow hard to maintain any modicum of focus. "I thought we might discuss my project. You see, I believe that I'm getting quite a bit _closer_ to the final solution." her hand had traveled further up his leg and made languid ministrations near his inseam.

"Oh." he managed to choke out through a thick throat.

"But I'm not quite there. I need you to trust me." she lowered her chin, feigning a pout, but her voice was stern and unyielding.

"I...I don't know if I…" he stammered, his usual silky tenor gone.

"I have a set of questions for you." a twinkle shone in her eye but it wasn't her eye anymore, hers were like toffee but the ones that he was staring into were a nearly electric green.

"I don't really want…"

"It's the only way that I can help you."

"Alright."

"Good, then, when you fall asleep, how soon do the nightmares start?"

"Almost immediately, I suppose. Although I think I may be..." She cut him off.

"And who do they usually include?"

"I'd rather not…"

"Severus, I'm trying to help you." she had used his given name again but somehow it wasn't the same. The s sounds seemed sharp and far from the delicate noises that he had heard her utter before.

"The dark lord, Albus, that bloody snake." he answered tentatively.

"And now me?"

"And now you. But I'm not sure this is a nightmare." he met her eyes, the eyes that were not hers. She let a chuckle escape through a small grin. She turned to put her empty tea cup on the tray. He swallowed hard and lowered his gaze to his bare feet, not knowing what she was about to do. When Hermione turned to him once again, she wasn't Hermione at all. Her unruly, umber hair had turned a vibrant red that hung in sleek sheets to her elbows. Her skin shone alabaster, but the eyes that bore into him now were the same ones that he saw in Hermione before.

"You've forsaken me, Severus." the voice stung his ears like a thousand nettles and set a fire in the pit of his stomach. He felt like vomiting.

"Lily, I...I...I don't…" he couldn't form a thought, he could hardly breathe. Absolute shock rendered him speechless. She clambered onto his lap, Hermione's robes stretched too tightly upon her frame. She placed her hands beneath his chin, angled his worried face up to hers, and stared into his eyes. Her touch stung like ice upon hot skin, her flesh lacking any suppleness that it might have had in life. He strained to resist the urge to place his hands on her waist and pull her to him, this was not Lily, this was black magic, a creature born from poisonous delusions. He shook himself into resolve and stared her dead in the face, a small knit settling between his shadowed brows. Then a green light, blindingly bright, burst from her core, filling the room and causing her to scream. The shrill highs filled his ears and threatened to make them bleed. He knew he would not soon forget that sound.

Severus sat bolt upright, his breaths coming in frantic, struggled heaves. He tried with all of his might to not be sick but to no avail, he emptied his nearly vacant stomach onto the floor next to the sofa on which he was sprawled out. Severus wiped his mouth, realising that morning had come and the light that streamed through his living room window hit his eyes like spotlights on a stage, blinding white. He looked down to his chest, his frock coat was open, an act that he did not recall doing, and he could see that his white shirt below was soaked through with sweat. He implored his gaze to drift further, down his torso, past, his legs, to his feet, which lay bare before him.

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